


Asylum

by VampyrePrince



Series: Unrequited [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Moriarty is Alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampyrePrince/pseuds/VampyrePrince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finally has the chance to confront his old enemy, the very man that had haunted him ever since he came back from the fall. Accompanied by Mycroft and Lestrade, he makes his way into the cesspool of London's violent psychopaths to confront his worst nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asylum

**Author's Note:**

> This is heavily based on events from season three!
> 
> Sorry this part is so short. It came to me this afternoon while I was lying in bed, and I instantly jumped up and had to write it. I was happy with it, and I hope once again I can do the characters justice. This is the first time I've tried to write a complicated storyline, so bear with me!

Sherlock could feel his heart racing in his chest as he stood before DI Lestrade's desk, Mycroft close by describing a series of events to both men. It was rare that the older Holmes brother communicated with Scotland Yard directly, but the matter at hand was going to need support from both ends, mainly for Sherlock's benefit. The man was still somewhat shaken from the events from two years previous, when Moriarty had convinced the world that he was a fake; the series of events that led to the detective's eventual fake suicide and disappearance from John's life. That he would never forgive. No game was worth any of the pain and suffering it had caused.

It was ironic that now of all times things would take a turn back in the very same direction. On that day as Sherlock stood beside his brother, before Lestrade in the much too small office in Scotland Yard, the detective was once again faced with the decision to confront the one man he was sure had died. The only man, besides Magnussen, that he had any desire to kill in cold blood.

Moriarty had actually returned.

Sherlock closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, his rage creeping up on him along with the excitement at the prospect of revenge. Lestrade watched him carefully, standing to grab his coat before turning off the lights in his office and grabbing his keys. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. This is something I need to do.” Sherlock followed Lestrade and his brother out of the building, all three men climbing into one of Mycroft's sleek black cars. The detective stared out the window the entire trip, glaring at the scenery as he attempted to form any rational thought in his brain. There were so many things he wanted to say on top of all the plans for his enemy's demise – he couldn't differentiate between them anymore.

Mycroft watched his brother with utmost concern, Lestrade sitting tense as the silence stretched between the men as the trip to their destination seemed to grow longer and longer. He finally cleared his throat and gained Sherlock's brief attention. “You know this is against my better judgment. You shouldn't be allowed anywhere near this man by any rights.”

“He's no danger to me now, I assure you. He's the one who's been driven mad, not me.” 

“Sometimes I wonder, what with your most recent... obsession.” Sherlock glared at Mycroft, a look of warning that chilled Lestrade to the core crossing his face. The older Holmes brother shrugged and relaxed back into his seat, falling once more into silence. Lestrade felt the need to absolve some of the tension that had arisen, addressing Mycroft instead of Sherlock, who had resumed his sulk against the window.

“So where do they have him holed up?”

“An asylum at the far end of London, high security of course. A place for violent criminals gone mad - too far gone to be considered appropriate candidates for prison.”

“And we're letting _him_ go inside?” Lestrade gestured to Sherlock with his eyes, Mycroft smiling in return. He obviously felt the same way.

“It was my brother's most adamant request upon hearing the news. How could I possibly deny him a few words with his greatest admirer?”

“I have a sneaking suspicion this is all going to end badly.” Sherlock sighed loudly and sat back in his seat, clearly annoyed.

“Please, continue discussing matters as if I weren't here.” The silence in the car resumed once more, the rest of the ride uneventful as each man sorted out his own thoughts on the matter, worries high and nerves tense.

* * *

A tall building loomed before them as they stepped out of the black car, every bit as intimidating on the outside as it was most likely going to be on the inside. Sherlock was practically jumping out of his skin in anticipation. Ever since Mycroft had informed him of Moriarty's return that day in his flat a week ago, he had been eager to find the man's whereabouts at all costs. John had found it strange and had become worried about his friend, their intimacy having been put on hold for the entire week except for the occasional light peck and sideways glances that spoke of their desire for one another, although nothing else had happened beyond that. John had been left completely in the dark about the whole thing. He wasn't even aware of the traitor among them working with Moriarty, which Sherlock hadn't been able to weasel out just yet. Everyone he knew that was close to Mary or John, or him checked out beautifully; even Mary with her questionable past was coming out clean. It was just another thing he would get out of the bastard in the padded cell before he ripped him apart with his bare hands.

As they approached the door to the asylum, Mycroft flashed his credentials for clearance and they entered, Lestrade looking impressed at the fact that Mycroft's face alone was enough to open practically any door in London. It was an unfortunate perk for Sherlock, who often used his brother's identity to fake his way into places of high security. It never worked for long, though. 

They walked along a dimly lit hallway, the place smelling stale and the walls a sickening mix between gray and clinical green. It was no wonder the patients in the facility went out of their minds; places like this were definitely not benefiting them with the environment. Even the employees were somber and dressed in equally distressing colored uniforms, but all of that was just trivial. Sherlock only cared about one thing, and he was behind a locked door somewhere in that building. 

“Welcome, Mr. Holmes. We've received word that you would be arriving.” The woman behind the desk eyed Sherlock and Lestrade suspiciously before Mycroft held up a hand.

“They're with me. Allow me to present my brother, Sherlock Holmes, and Scotland Yard's detective inspector Gregory Lestrade. They are the reason I am here today.” The woman took note of the extended party and granted them passage into the asylum, the sights greeting them none too pleasant. They met with a guard who was waiting for them in front of a heavy metal door, opening it and allowing them inside, then closing it and locking it once they had entered. Although Mycroft had stated his opinion about the place being much different from a prison, Lestrade had to differ. It had all the charm of a high security prison, except for the padded cells that were locked down tightly behind heavy metal doors, the only view in being a small slit at the top of the door.

They finally came to a halt in front of one of the heavy doors, Mycroft glancing at Sherlock and then to Lestrade, the DI stepping up close beside Sherlock to aid Mycroft in his observation. With bated breath a nearby guard unlocked the door, the heavy metal structure swinging open to reveal what was, indeed, a large padded room, the lights much too bright and cameras in every corner. Sherlock clenched his teeth as he set eyes on the wretched sight in the center, a man he was all too familiar with. “Mycroft, I wish to speak with him alone. Take any other precautions you require, but give me this.”

“Granted. I can only allow so much time, little brother, so make it quick.” Lestrade steeled himself as he watched the brothers' exchange. Anything could happen at this point, especially since it was Sherlock going in to handle the very sensitive situation. As DI of Scotland Yard, for as long as he had been in the position, he had never had to deal with anything as crazy as this. The only thing he could do for the time being was stand at Mycroft's side, waiting to spring to action if required. God he hoped it wouldn't come to that. Ever since Sherlock had been convicted of murder, the DI wasn't sure what to expect anymore.

The door slammed behind Sherlock as he stepped into the brightly lit room, an almost maniacal smile crossing his features. It was returned in kind by the man sitting on the floor, who stood to the best of his ability – the straight jacket binding his arms causing a bit of difficulty. The detective was suddenly hit with the vile memory of Moriarty bound in chains in the round padded room in his mind palace. It was the very night he had literally stared death in the face, and at the time he believed that to be the very visage of his dead mortal enemy, the man who still managed to plague him to that day. He needed to know why the man still lived. He would find out how he did it before the inevitable happened.

“Looking well I see. Death has been rather kind to you, Jim.” Moriarty approached Sherlock and looked into his eyes to see a burning hatred that made his adrenaline rush.

“How kind of you to come visit. I've missed you so.”

“You're quite brave, coming so close to the man you nearly killed.”

“Oh I didn't kill you, Sherlock. You killed yourself.” The criminal backed up and leaned against the wall, a cheerful smile still on his face. “You're still dead inside, you know.”

“I'm more alive than I've ever been. You on the other hand...” The detective came close to Moriarty, gripping the man's chin tightly and forcing their eyes to meet. “You don't have long, I imagine. Not when I'm through with you.” The man in the straight jacket laughed, a gleam sparkling in his eyes as he watched his former playmate burn with anger.

“You have no idea how hot you are when you're angry.” His face then turned very dark, a sudden shift that caused Sherlock's blood to run cold. “No, but really. Do you honestly think I'd believe you just offed yourself, just like that? Just for little old me?”

“That was the plan. Obviously it hadn't worked.”

“No...” Moriarty shook his head and watched the wall to his left out of the corner of his eye. “You wouldn't leave John so easily.” He returned his gaze to the detective, his smile appearing once again. “Your good little doctor John Watson. The love of your life. Awww, how sweet. I'm actually quite jealous.” Sherlock's expression turned murderous as he slammed Moriarty against the wall, his arm nearly crushing the man's ribs. The faint shouting from out in the corridor barely reached his ears as the blood pounded in them, his face turning hot and his breathing quickening as he tried to control his anger.

“You have no right to say that name.”

“Ooh, I'm so proud of you. Look at you, being all violent and rebellious. You've murdered a man, too.” Moriarty gasped as Sherlock put more pressure on his lungs. The sound of a key fumbling in the lock could be heard behind them.

“Who have you employed?”

“I don't know if I should tell you.”

“Don't fuck with me!”

“It might spoil _all_ the fun.” 

The detective closed his eyes and calmed as the door swung open, Mycroft and Lestrade standing at the opening of the door to keep an eye on the situation. The guard was close behind. The older Holmes brother stepped into the cell. “Sherlock, time is up.” 

The detective leaned into Moriarty to set his lips by his ear, whispering quietly as he let out a deep breath. “I am going to kill you. It's going to be slow and painful, and you will remember every bit of it as you suffer in Hell.” He released Moriarty and watched as the man fell to the floor, a grin forming on the criminal's face.

“I look forward to that.” The detective turned and brushed past his brother and Lestrade, making his way quickly out of the building and hailing a cab. He needed to see John. Just the very sight of Moriarty made him want to check on John, just to be sure he was alright. It was a ridiculous thought, as Moriarty was tied up in a padded cell with no clear way out, but the fact remained that the man had survived death. The detective hadn't the slightest idea how, the blood still fresh in his memory as it leaked onto the rooftop when Moriarty fell after shooting himself. The Cheshire grin on the villain's face as he laid there, laughing in death's face. It was all so vivid again, and he needed to clear it from his mind for the moment if he was even going to attempt to find Moriarty's accomplice. 

Mycroft had said it was someone close, some they'd known well. Either his brother wasn't giving him everything he knew, which wasn't uncommon, or he truly wasn't aware of all the facts. Either way, Sherlock would start by going through John and Mary's wedding list, and in order to obtain the guest book he would have to pay them a visit. 

The detective stepped into the cab that pulled over for him, noticing that Mycroft and Lestrade were finally leaving the building. They made no hurry to catch up to him as the driver pulled back onto the road, leaving them in the distance.


End file.
